“Not a scrap? Nothing?”
“I said no. That cagey bastard?”
“Was anyone else present at any of your meetings with Horan?”
“Sure, lots of times Birch was there.”
“He’s dead. Anyone else?”
Egan had to think. “No.”
“Never?”
“Not down in the basement with us, no. The night man at the garage, Bud Haskins, of course he saw him every time he came.” Egan’s eyes lit up. “Sure, Bud saw him!”
“No doubt.” Cramer wasn’t stirred. “Horan’s ready for that, or thinks he is. He’ll meet it by putting the word of a reputable member of the bar against the word of a low criminal like you backed up by a pal that he’ll say you have primed. I’m not saying Haskins can’t help. We’ll get him, and we’ll — where you going?”
Wolfe had pushed his chair back, got to his feet, and taken a step. He looked down at Cramer. “Upstairs. It’s nine o’clock.” He passed between his desk and Cramer and was on his way.